


Only Way Out is Through

by lifeaftermeteor



Series: Life After Meteor [11]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: BROTPs abound, Drug Abuse, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Endless Waltz, Post-Series, Preventers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 14,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8257139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: AC 204 finds Quatre and Trowa mending their friendship and Duo finding his stride at school.  Meanwhile, in New York City, Heero's personal life outside of the Preventers takes a dangerous turn.  As his romantic endeavors begin a tailspin, Wufei and Trowa are there to pick up the pieces.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 11 of the [Life After Meteor](http://archiveofourown.org/series/391015) series, which trails the Gundam Pilots (and others) through the years post-war. Welcome comments/feedback.

**New York, New York  
** **204 January 6**

Heero supposed he should have gotten back in touch with Jason sooner than he had.  He’d been unresponsive for nearly ten days after their first date, Trowa’s condition having taken priority above all else – Heero had all but forgotten anyone outside of their improvised family even existed.  By the time Trowa had stabilized and been released into Catherine’s care, Heero finally regained the wherewithal to read his messages.

Jason’s slew of texts and voicemails over the days had evolved from gentle teasing to concerned questions, eventually settling on probing questions debating Heero’s interest.  He’d responded first with an apology and a simple explanation that spared the details.

The message was met moments later with a phone call.  The conversation had left him feeling off-balance, like he’d somehow wronged the other man by separating him from such a “frightening” event.  While Jason spoke in his ear, Heero’s thoughts had drifted to the conversation he’d had with Trowa after their first date – specifically about the need for transparency – and he had heard himself vow not to repeat the transgression.

Jason seemed keen to put the thing behind them too, as a few days later found them out and about as the hours grew late and the City That Never Sleeps got her second wind.  Jason took him high up above the streets, up onto the deck of one of the hundreds of skyscrapers, where they could look down on the glittering lights and falling snow.  And when he kissed him, Heero was ready this time. 

He was not ready for how it shook him, however. The intensity of it…the rest of the world fading away into singularity as his stomach plummeted several stories below. 

“You’re trembling,” Jason murmured when they parted and the world of light and sound came crashing back.  He took Heero’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against his cheekbones.  “Do you want me to take you home?”

Heero had expected the question.  He had been debating his answer all night.  Steeling his nerves, he said only, “No.”

Jason paused and waited, but when Heero couldn’t pick the words from his jumbled thoughts, the man quirked an eyebrow and asked, “What would you like to do, then?”

That was the question.  Heero didn’t know.  He wanted the electric current switched on his spine again.  He wanted the taste of the other man’s kiss on his lips again.  He wanted the static in his head beaten back with bruising force.  As Heero warred with himself, Jason pressed closer, dropping his hands to wrap his long arms around Heero’s waist, lighting wildfires wherever their bodies touched.  “With you,” Heero finally managed.  “I want to go with you.”

Jason searched his eyes then for such a long time, Heero found himself hoping desperately that whatever he was looking for could be found there.  At long last, he smiled and said, “Okay,” reaching down to take Heero’s hand in his own and headed toward the building’s elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

**NYC Preventers Branch Office  
** **New York, New York  
** **204 February 14**  

“Why are there cupcakes in the break room?” Heero demanded as he stormed into the square of cubicles set aside for the office’s interns.  The ‘pit’ he had heard them call it.  Three sets of terrified eyes greeted him; another two acknowledged his arrival with the familiarity that came with being Preventers NYC veterans.

The sixth, one of Heero’s own – Anita, didn’t even look up from the report she was drafting.  “Because it’s Valentine’s Day…and my birthday, as it happens,” she answered promptly.  Pausing in her frantic typing, she finally swiveled her chair around to face him.

Heero glared at her.  “Enabler.”  She beamed.  “You’re fired.”

At this, she laughed outright and leaned back in her desk chair, her arms crossed over her chest.  “You can’t fire me – I’m not even on payroll.  Besides, if you _did_ somehow succeed in getting me kicked out, that would just mean that somewhere out there in the city someone _else_ was getting homemade cupcakes.”

Heero pondered this for a moment.  “That’s a fair point.”

“See, you gotta keep in mind the second and third order effects, boss,” she told him with an air of playful reprimand which sounded suspiciously like Wufei’s doing.

“Whatever.  Keep working, minion,” Heero instructed, not quite able to quite keep the smile from his lips. 

“Yes, Sir!” she acknowledged with a grin, turning back to her computer.

Taking long strides through the hubbub that was the branch office, Heero rounded a corner and serendipitously linked up with Wufei, who was flipping through a file on his way to a briefing.  Catching his elbow to draw the other man’s attention, Heero asked, “Have you been teaching our intern to antagonize me?”

Wufei shook his head, flashing a conspiratorial smile.  “I’ve only been giving her the skills to survive the bureaucracy.  If she navigates her career track well enough, the lot of us will be reporting to her eventually.”  

“Does that world domination plan include winning loyalty through baked goods?”

“In all seriousness, Heero, if we can find a way to leverage her baking skills _and_ her analytical prowess, we’ll be set for life.  Have you tried her cupcakes?”

“I’ve had three of them in the last hour.”

Wufei drew up short in the hall and laughed heartily at this, gripping his sides as he tried desperately to recover his composure.  Heero waited, the very image of disgruntled patience.  Finally, once he’d taken a few steadying breaths, Wufei observed, “Now I know why you run weekly 5Ks...”


	3. Chapter 3

**Unit #1298, Mosaic Towers**  
**Jakarta, Indonesia  
****204 March 18**  

Hilde honestly had no concept of what constituted a ‘spring recess,’ but if it meant free trips to Indonesia, then she would adamantly offer her whole-hearted endorsement of the idea.  Duo had called her down from the colonies to spend a week’s respite together, bounding about Jakarta while he regaled her with tales of school and related nonsense.  She had observed him closely one evening as they went out wandering the city while he pointed out places of interest, and it seemed to her that he was truly happy. 

He’d kept their conversation on classes and friends and caught her up on how the other five were doing, but Hilde couldn’t help but pry into his personal life.  Surely after the bulk of a year in-country on his own, someone had caught his eye.  Duo grew quiet at that and shook his head with a dismissive shrug.  Before she could inquire further, he drew her attention to some other new topic and they were soundly occupied for the following hour.

Late that evening, they swept themselves up to the apartment and into his room, laughter easy and light.  He hopped up onto the center of his bed as she shut the door behind her, making a beeline for the closet to pull out her suitcase. 

Unzipping the bag, she started to rummage.  “I’m serious about what I said earlier, you know.  About finding someone to help you ‘decompress.’  With eyes like yours,” she teased, “you must be a real lady killer down here.  And if you’re not, you are missing out on a damn fine opportunity, hun.” 

Hilde turned to continue her sisterly teasing but stopped short, feeling her words shrivel up and die on her tongue.  Duo sat on his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees.  He wouldn’t meet her eyes, the laughter from only moments before long gone.  “Duo?”  He shook his head, seeming to try pull himself from his thoughts.  Hilde saw his jaw clench and she sighed, crawling up onto the bed with him.  “Oh sweetie, what’s wrong?  You know I don’t mean any of that – I’m just fucking with you,” she reassured, draping her arms over his shoulders.  She felt his weight sag against her and she moved with his momentum, allowing them both to fall back against the bed, tangled around each other.  “What’s wrong?” she asked again, feeling his arms shift and to wrap around her waist.

“I don’t want,” he said, his words muffled against her chest.  “I don’t need.  It’s not there.  I’ve tried again and again and every single time it’s crashed and burned.”

“So?” she prompted, rubbing her hands over his back, feeling the tension knotted there.  “Just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean there’s something wrong – that’s dating.”

“No, Hil,” he said softly.  “I don’t want it, ever.  With someone or hell, by myself.  I don’t think about sex.  At all.  It never even enters my head until someone throws it at me.  And then I feel like I’ve missed something, some cue that everyone else has picked up on.  It’s just not there.”

“At all?” she asked, almost incredulous.  It was hard to imagine – Duo may not have been ‘active’ while he lived with her and Heero, but he hadn’t shied away from the concept either.  Sex was normal on L2, just another part of life.  She had just assumed… 

“None,” Duo affirmed.  “Nothing has worked out because – well, how would _you_ feel if your boyfriend told you that he didn’t _want_ you?”  He sighed and they lay in silence for a moment.

Hilde ran her hands up his shoulders to his neck and then reached out to wrap his braid around her hand, clutching it in her fist again the base of his skull. “Maybe it’s the meds,” she murmured.

“It’s not,” he asserted, his arms tightening where they held her.  When he spoke next, he was hesitant.  “I…I went off of them.  Just for a while.”

“Duo—”

“I know.  I know I’m not supposed to.  I just…I thought…maybe.  But it didn’t change anything.  Just fucked up my sleep and made me twitchy, which wasn’t great.”  He laughed bitterly against her.  “‘Course, I guess you could say that was all detox, and the only way to _really_ be sure would be to change them.  But I don’t have it in me to go through that all over again; it took so long to get it right.” [1]

They lay in silence for a time then, each lost in thought.  Hilde listened to the thudding of her heart in her ears while his breath came in soft sighs against her neck. 

After a long time, he said quietly, “Sometimes I don’t know how much longer I can deal with all of this.  How they look at me, the questions they ask.  About _this_ , about the _colonies_ , about _me_.  It’s like they can’t leave me well enough alone.”  There was a pause, and then, “I’m just so tired of being broken, Hil.”

“You’re not broken, babe,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against the crown of his head.  “Someone will realize that and you’ll know when you find ‘em – or they find you.  You just have to hang tough until then.” [2]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] As a reminder, [Duo has specialized meds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5766829/chapters/13289884) because the nano-augmentation he had done pre-Operation Meteor means he [reacts very negatively](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5766829/chapters/13289716) to the standard prescriptions.
> 
> [2] Point of order: Hilde intends this to be encouraging. Do _NOT_ use it on your asexual friends. It’s not helpful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Vice Foreign Minister Darlian’s Residence**   
**L4-V05001**   
**204 April 6**

“Enough about me,” Relena declared with a laugh.  “You’re not allowed to ask any more questions.  Please tell me how you are, what you’re doing.”

Ms. Darlian’s smile softened on Relena’s computer screen which only made her own widen.  Her mother recounted a few charity events, juicy gossip amongst the diplomatic widows with whom she’d found stalwart friends, but then she became evasive.  “I also have to make plans for next week, ensure everything’s in order.”

“In order for what?”

And that was when her mother dropped a bombshell.  “For…for the surgery.”

“What?” Relena nearly launched out of her seat with the force of the shock, a million questions on her tongue.  “What surgery?”

“Well, they…they found some anomalies in my routine exams, so they ran some more tests.  And now…here we are.”

“There’s a huge gap between additional tests and surgery, Mutti.” [1]

“Things have been moving rather quickly,” the older woman admitted.  “And you’ve been so busy with so many important things, I…I didn’t want to alarm you.”

Relena could have screamed.  “Mutti,” she began, struggling to keep her emotions in check.  “There’s nothing more important to me in this whole wide world than you.”  She watched the video image of her mother dab at her eyes with a handkerchief.  “When is the surgery?”

“Next Thursday,” the older woman replied.  “My staff will take me—”

“No, _I’ll_ take you.”

“Relena—”

“I’m rearranging my calendar as we speak and I _will_ be with you.”

“But your duties…”

“The world can damn well hold its own shit together for once,” Relena shot back, grinning at her mother, who finally – with a deep sigh – smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Reminder: Relena speaks German.  She learned it growing up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Jason Moran’s Apartment, Tribeca**  
**New York, New York  
** **204 April 19**

The honeymoon period was decidedly over but where he’d gone wrong, how they’d reached this point, Heero hadn’t the slightest idea.

Splashing water on his face, he blinked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.  He recounted the nights out at this bar or that bar, pulled by Jason’s whim even as he’d wished to linger in conversations with the interesting people he’d met, not quite able to shake the feeling they knew something he didn’t, the way they looked at him.  He remembered the nights in, surrendering a million different ways in thousands of fractured pieces of himself, anything to make the man who was still sound asleep in the other room happy. 

He did it because Jason was good and kind and loved him.

Most days. 

Some days. 

Heero’s hands came up to his head, his fingertips massaging his temples.  The white noise in his head was there with ever greater frequency now.  In the dark recesses of his mind it waited, waited for times like this moment, when his heart ached and his brain hurt from trying to make sense of it all. 

It was a familiar sensation: the sound of volatile emotional response being drowned by a steady hum.  And with the buzzing came a comforting chill.  _You don’t have to feel this way_ , it told him.  _It’s so much easier without the turmoil.  Surrender.  Surrender this last piece of what you’ve become and it will be so much easier to endure the slings and arrows of an angry man_. 

Perhaps. 

Perhaps it would be. 

Closing his eyes, Heero buried his face in his hands.


	6. Chapter 6

**Cirque Ste-Croix, Staff Trailers  
** **Sydney, Australia  
** **204 May 13**  

“So what’s it like being back home and on the road?” Wufei asked him, his voice coming in with minor feedback on the video screen.

“Odd,” Trowa admitted.  “I’m under strict orders not to overexert myself, so no _actual_ performances.  No heavy lifting either, which means I’m all but useless.” 

“Except as a target.” 

Trowa chuckled at this and nodded, his thoughts turning briefly to his sister.  “Except as a target.  Or a crowd pleaser.  Lots of magic tricks and general nonsense to get them smiling.  I still don’t wear the make-up, so I seem to have better luck with the kids.”  He grew quiet as he thought about it, those small faces – so unsure at first – lighting up with such innocent and unrepentant joy.  “I kind of like it.” 

“Good.  I’m glad to hear it,” Wufei told him. 

“So how are things in New York?  You busy?  What’s-her-name still in the picture?” 

Wufei offered him a small smile and Trowa thought he looked a bit bashful when he answered, “Yes, she’s still in the picture.  I’ll head down to DC to see her this weekend as it happens.” 

“Just don’t get embroiled in some diplomatic incident.  Or land on an NSA [1] blacklist, okay?” 

“I will endeavor not to.” 

“And Heero?” 

Wufei’s face darkened instantly.  He hesitated, seeming to search for the right words.  “Something’s…off.  With Heero and Jason, I mean.  I live with the man, and yet I barely see Heero outside of work anymore.  And when I do see him, he seems distracted or…or as if he’s in a daze.  Either way, he’s not quite there.  And that’s on top of the fact that Jason seems intent on inserting himself into every facet of the man’s life. 

“He’s met some good people,” Wufei conceded, “new friends and all that.  But…I’m worried about the cost.” 

Trowa considered this for a time.  Heero was not one to be cowed or cornered.  He had long assumed the man was indomitable.  But everyone had their impact tolerance, he supposed.  “Does he hurt him?” 

The question clearly startled Wufei.  “I…don’t think so.  I haven’t seen anything to suggest it but…but again, I don’t see him much anymore.” 

Trowa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “Do me a favor – keep an eye on him, for all of us.”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Creative license that the National Security Agency still exists.


	7. Chapter 7

**Apartment #718**  
**New York, New York  
** **204 May 31**

Jason was livid.  That much Heero could tell straight away – the man had arrived unannounced after what had been Heero’s latest rebellion: not telling him about his plans to head to Boston with a friend from work.  Never mind the fact that Wufei would also be there serving as chaperone by default of being the third wheel.

Apparently this was the last straw in a long line of failures, which Jason was all too well prepared to recite. 

Heero let himself go comfortably numb as the man lambasted him, pacing from one end of the living room to the other while Heero stood still and waited for a lull.  When it came he opened his mouth, blissfully apathetic to the dangerous ground he was treading.  “You invited yourself over,” Heero reminded Jason.  “This is _my_ home.  You have no right to come here without my consent—”

“How dare you.  I have every right – I’m your boyfriend.  You should show me some respect,” Jason cut in, advancing on him.  Heero grit his teeth against the urge to cede ground, rooting his heels into the floorboards.  “After everything I’ve done for you.  I’ve loved you, cared for you—”

“I did alright before you came into my life,” Heero countered, but he could already feel his vindication flagging.  Maybe, maybe…this was a bad idea…

His fears seemed to be justified when Jason’s face grew cold, his lips twisting in an ugly smile.  “Really?” he asked, the word laced with doubt and danger.  “That what you tell yourself when the nightmares come?  Do the scars on your back tell you that you’ve done ‘alright?’” 

The other man advanced again, drawing up to his full height and Heero winced.  No, no he wasn’t alright.  He was broken and bruised and lost in this world…

“Do _they_ know who you are?  _What_ you are?” Jason asked, his voice taking on a vengeful edge.  “They’ll find out, you know.  Someday they’ll all find out.  But I could protect you from all of that.” 

Heero felt the tremors begin and he closed his eyes, feeling Jason wrap his hands around his arms.  He had once drawn comfort from that touch, read it as protective.  He knew what it was now.  _Possessive._ They would find out eventually, that was true.  Would he have the strength to face it alone?  His thoughts turned to the others and felt the poison bite of fear in his belly.  Would they be branded too? 

Killer. 

Murderer. 

Monster. 

Terrorist. 

Gundam Pilot. 

01.

_01._ Heero’s eyes snapped open, a light going on in some distant, dark room inside his head. His fists balled at his sides, his fingernails biting into the flesh of his palms.  Between clenched teeth, he hissed, “Get out of my apartment.”  Forcibly pulling himself from the other man’s grip, he shoved him away with a force Jason clearly hadn’t anticipated judging from the stumble that he quickly tried to cover.  “Don’t talk to me.  Don’t seek me out.  And don’t you come back here ever again.”

“Don’t be stupid, Heero,” Jason said, reaching out a hand in supplication.  It was a familiar tactic, as if he was talking down a jumper. 

“Leave.  Now.”

The kindness vanished, replaced by something vicious.  “You’re going to regret this—”

“No,” Heero countered.  “No, you try to threaten me – or my family – ever again, _you_ will regret it.  Now go.  We’re done here.”

Jason had flushed an angry red as he spoke, and Heero thought the man was about to reach out and strike him or have an aneurysm…but Jason did neither.  Without another word, the man stomped to the entryway, pausing to tear down a framed print that hung in the foyer and toss it across the room.  The shattering of glass seemed an appropriate accompaniment to the impossibly loud slamming of the door that followed in Jason’s wake.

In the silence that followed, Heero breathed, his exhale shaking as the adrenaline pulsed through his veins.  He crossed to the door and hovered there a moment before quickly reaching out and turning the deadbolt.  With bated breath, he waited several more minutes, waited for the pounding on the door.  But when no footfalls echoed down the hallway toward the apartment, he turned his attention to dealing with the broken picture frame.  He slipped on a pair of sandals that lay discarded and ignored by the door and then retreated back into the common area.  Shards of glass crunching underfoot as he moved, he knelt down and began collecting the larger pieces, cradling them in his palm.  As he worked, a steady buzzing of static grew in the back of his head. 


	8. Chapter 8

**New York, New York  
** **204 June 29**  

When Quatre arrived at JFK, he shot off a quick message to Heero, not expecting the other man to be free at such late notice.  To his surprise, Heero responded that he was not only in town but available too.  To Quatre’s even greater surprise, the other man invited him out dancing.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” he explained over the phone as he was checking into his hotel.

“We’ll find something,” Heero replied.

This gave Quatre pause and he checked his watch.  “Are there stores open at this hour?”

“Who said anything about stores?” the other man asked.  “Come over in an hour and let me worry about the wardrobe.”

And this was how he landed in some dimly lit NYC club in borrowed black clothes, the base line that hammered from the speakers rattling his chest while he held Heero close to him on the dance floor, barely a shred of space between them.

Quatre could feel a sadness in the man pressed against him.  It was buried in the darkness, fluttering just beneath the surface.  It was there in Heero’s touch, in the way he pressed himself against him, in the way his body yielded to the pace Quatre set.  He could feel it radiating off of him in undulating waves that made Quatre’s heart ache and strain against his ribs as it tried to break free from the mortal flesh that trapped it, from the pain that accosted it.

And that was precisely why Quatre let himself be drawn into Heero’s terminal orbit.  As they danced, the tables tipped in Quatre’s favor as Heero ceded more and more ground – a surrender that startled him, frightened him, more than he would ever admit aloud.  With the lights flashing overhead, he strangled his gifts into silence and focused instead on the man in his arms. 

It was not until hours later, when he had seen his friend home safely and climbed into a passing cab that he slowly undid the bindings that had kept his response to Heero’s silent screams bottled up inside him.

Because screaming he had done.  All night.  Over and over and over again.

Digging out his phone from his back pocket, he glanced out the window at the city, his brain and heart both still pounding.  He sent a quick text out into the ether and hoped it would find purchase.

Seconds later his phone buzzed in his hands.  He smiled in spite of the residual pain that throbbed in his head and chest alike.  

_Yes, of course I’m awake,_ read the message from Trowa.  _What’s up?_

_Heero.  Something’s wrong._

_Like what?_

_I’m not sure._   Several minutes went by, the man on the other end of the line waiting patiently while Quatre gathered his thoughts.  Finally, he sent, _He’s in so much pain._   He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he reached up to wipe away traitorous tears.  _He hurts so much, but he won’t say anything.  He won’t tell anyone.  But he tells ME because he knows I can hear it._

There was a long pause that followed the slew of messages.  But then Trowa asked, _Are you staying with him?_

_No – and he didn’t ask me to._

_He would have if he wanted you to,_ Trowa told him.  _Take some comfort in that.  He’s not alone.  He should know that._

Quatre thought about it, just as he had in the doorway of Heero’s apartment.  Did he know?  Could they be so sure of that?  He took a deep breath and expelled it in a deep sigh while he clung to vestiges of what felt like some futile hope.  


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that warranted this year's "Mature" rating, just FYI.

**Location Unknown  
** **New York, New York  
** **204 July 20**  

Heero drifted up from a drugged haze as the man against him finished with a cry, the force of his orgasm driving Heero back against the bricks behind him.  Their rough edges bit into his shoulders where the thin cotton of his tank top could do little to protect them.  He winced and grit his teeth against the pain as the man gasped against his neck, his breath reeking of liquor.  

After an agonizing moment, the man pulled out of him and tossed aside the spent condom as Heero set his clothes to rights, now that he had two feet back on the ground.  When the man leaned in again, Heero’s arm shot forward to stop his approach.  “Go,” he instructed.

“You sure—” 

“Go,” he repeated, this time with a push.  The man stumbled backward, still tucking himself away into his pants.  Clearly confused and perhaps a bit offended, he shuffled away and around the corner, presumably back into the bar from which they’d come. 

Alone in the alley, the noise came barreling back.  Heero groaned and leaned back against the wall, his hands coming up to fist his hair, the tug at his scalp doing little to alleviate the throbbing in his head.  _What am I doing here?_  The thought was quickly followed by a bitter retort.  _Where is ‘here’?_   Looking around, he found the alley littered with grime and refuse but otherwise nameless in a sea of others he knew to be just like it.  He had to leave, said the sick feeling in his belly, but he couldn’t yet find the energy to move away from the reliable stability the wall behind him offered. 

He cursed under his breath as he dropped his hands to his sides, clenched into fists.  He felt the dull bite of his fingernails against his palm, could vaguely hear the pounding of the baseline from the club nearby, and used his senses to ground himself lest the static in his head sweep him away. 

_What are you doing to yourself?_  

The downward spiral had begun gradually enough.  A week after the break-up with Jason, the static in his head had become unbearable and so Heero had slunk out into the night and wandered the city in search of something – anything – to distract him, to help him beat back the white noise.  His feet eventually took him to the Lighthouse.  A dim, hole-in-the-wall bar tucked away in the labyrinth of Manhattan, the venue offered space only for about a dozen patrons at a time.  When he had convinced Jason to take him there – the one and only time he had been able to do so – Heero had found he had liked it and the quiet intimacy it offered.  He had made quick friends with the bartender, Darius.  Tall and dark, with long fingers and an easy smile, he harbored quiet strength and a penchant for puns. 

It was Darius who greeted him when he walked into the bar that night and it was Darius who took him back to his loft apartment when his shift ended, the two of them spending the rest of the night tangled together in the man’s large bed.  For those brief hours, Heero understood what it meant to be worshipped – perhaps even loved – as Darius lavished him with gentle affection. 

Heero had awoken in the early morning hours wrapped in the other man’s strong arms while Darius’ fingers ran through his hair.  “I have to go,” he had murmured. 

There was a kiss to his bare shoulder and then, “You don’t have to.  You could stay.” 

And oh, had he wanted to.  Cradled against the other man’s body, Heero had wanted nothing more than to press himself back against him and drift away into the warmth he offered.  But the static was there, waiting, hovering somewhere just out of his reach.  And soon – very soon – it would start to encroach on him as it always did with promises of respite and relief that only the numbness it offered could bring him.  

“You need to let me go,” Heero had told him, reluctantly pulling away and sitting upright as he reached the edge of the bed. 

“Heero—” There was a gentle pressure at his hip, the sound of sheets moving as Darius had sat up as well, seeking to bring him back. 

“You’re not going to like what I’m becoming.”  And in the stunned silence that followed the confession, Heero had fled into the bright light of the morning. 

A night, a rebound…and the beginning of the downward spiral that would become his life.  Because as he had walked home that morning to the apartment he shared with Wufei, the static had come creeping back out from where it had hidden itself away in his subconscious.  With each step it grew and as the days wore on, the dull hum of it became a roar that drowned out everything else.  

And so out into the night he went again in search of something to beat the noise back again.  And each week after, the lull grew less and less as he grew immune to the distractions he threw himself toward, forcing him to up the ante day after day.  Another drink to dull his inhibitions, another warm body to surrender to, another fuck in a bathroom stall or back alley or some stranger’s bed.  And when that stopped working, he’d gotten his hands on helpful little vials of crimson oblivion.  He’d tip back his head to drop the liquid into his eyes, blinking them open again to a world of floating lights, warped buildings, and smiling devils. 

And as the days wore on, the more it all hurt.  He would come up from the benders aching inside and out, but even the pain was still better than the void that devoured him when the static came.    

He was losing the battle, he knew, but he had to try.  Pushing away from the brick wall, Heero brushed grit from his bare shoulders and ran his hands over his clothes to straighten them one last time before he turned to head back towards the street and out into the dark.


	10. Chapter 10

**Apartment #718  
** **New York, New York  
** **204 July 21**  

Wufei awoke with a start feeling horribly ill.  Sitting upright, he threw his legs over the edge of his bed and took several gasping breaths.  The nausea and pain that had dragged him from sleep abated as he breathed and as consciousness fully took hold, he did a quick assessment of himself, finding nothing amiss.  _Odd.  A dream maybe?_   Just as he was about to lay back down, his nerves still rattled, some faint murmur drifted to him from out in the hall.  _Heero?_  

He’d grown accustomed to his roommate’s absence in the night time hours.  Checking the clock, he was taken by a wave of aimless dread.  0240.  It was still early.  

Standing, Wufei padded across the room and opened the door, stepping just over the threshold to stare down the hallway.  The bathroom light was on.  There was another faint murmur that sounded almost like words.  “Heero?”  

No answer.  

Leaving the safety of his room behind and with his blood thrumming in his veins, he walked the short distance to the bathroom.  Inside, he found Heero sitting in the far corner with his back pressed against the bathtub.  His legs and arms were curled close, tucked up against his chest, his gaze focused somewhere between himself and the sink opposite him.  He didn’t even acknowledge Wufei’s entrance.  “Heero?” he asked again.  “Are you okay?” 

“Can’t you hear it?  It’s so loud now...” 

A wave of anxiety sparked across Wufei’s nerves.  “I don’t hear anything.” 

Heero whimpered and brought his hands up to press his fingers against his temples in an effort to fight off some unseen onslaught, screwing his eyes shut.  

It was then that Wufei saw the knife in Heero’s right hand.  The light from the bulbs over the sink flashed on its blade and filled Wufei with overwhelming dread.  “Heero…” he muttered as he took half a step closer.  Crouching down to be eye-level with the other man, he stretched out his hand and struggled to keep his voice from shaking when he urged, “Give me the knife.  Please—” 

“I tried, ‘Fei,” Heero muttered ignoring Wufei’s slow approach. “But nothing’s working.  Not anymore.  It’s _inside_ now.  But I thought maybe…maybe if I cut it out—”

“Heero, no.  _Please_ give me the knife.”  He inched closer still, hand outstretched. 

“I can’t fight it anymore…I’m so tired…” 

Nearly beside his roommate now, Wufei urged again, “Heero, please…”  He watched the muscles clench in the other man’s jaw.  After a breathless moment, Heero passed him the blade with an air of defeat.  Weapon safely acquired, Wufei turned to lean back toward the door and slid the knife down the hall.  He heard it ricochet off the walls before coming to a stop somewhere near his bedroom.  

Turning back to Heero, he felt the blood turn cold in his veins.  His roommate and finally turned his gaze on him, and those eyes – usually so clear and blue – were clouded and red as if every blood vessel had broken.  “Heero, what did you take?” 

A moment’s pause and then Heero started to laugh, slow and dark.  “It doesn’t matter,” he told him.  “It didn’t work anyway.” 

“Heero, I need to tell me what you took.” 

Heero didn’t hear him.  “I just wanted to feel something – anything,” he was saying.  As he spoke something shifted in him, coiled like a spring and through clenched his teeth he snarled, “But they stole it.  They took it.  And all that’s left is _static_.”  

At the word, Heero’s leg shot out and caught the pedestal of the sink with his heel, cleaving a large chunk of the porcelain off with the force of the blow.  He cried out, enraged, and kicked again, knocking more of the stand to pieces.  

“Stop!” Wufei shouted as he leapt onto his roommate.  The two of them toppled to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs as Wufei struggled to restrain the other man.  “Heero, stop!” he pleaded again. “You’ll break the pipes!” 

There were a few more sound kicks to the pedestal, shattering it further, the pieces falling to the floor and skittering over the bathroom tile.  Slowly…slowly…Heero stilled, the fight leaving him.  But then there was an agonized wail of an injured, dying animal that broke into sobs that wracked the man in his arms.  

Wufei eased his grip on the other man, entirely at a loss for how to proceed.  Distantly, he heard his cellphone ringing in his bedroom.  He pressed his lips into a thin line, fighting the wave of emotion that rose up from within him and sought to overwhelm him.  With trembling hands, he ran his fingers through Heero’s unruly hair.  “It’s okay, Heero…I’m here.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Cirque Ste-Croix, Staff Trailers  
** **Atlanta, Georgia  
** **204 July 24**  

“Are you in the Western Hemisphere by chance?” 

The question was an odd one.  Straightening, Trowa shifted the cell from where it was braced at his shoulder to his hand and held it against his other ear.  “As it happens, we’re even in the United States.  Down in Atlanta this week,” he said and paused.  “Why?” 

On the other end, Wufei took a deep breath before telling him, “I know you’re not on break but…is it at all possible for you to come up to New York?” 

“What’s going on, Wufei?” 

“It’s Heero.  He…he needs our help.  And I don’t know what more I can do on my own.” 

He sounded exhausted.  Trowa chose not to comment on it, instead saying, “If I can catch a flight, I’ll be there today.” 

Ending the call with a promise to keep Wufei informed of his status, Trowa beat a hasty retreat to management’s ‘office,’ just yet another trailer in the cluster of the rest of them.  He knocked twice on the door and waited for permission to enter.  Inside, he found the manager, the ringmaster, and his sister sitting comfortably about the small interior, their mood relaxed. 

“I’m sorry to intrude,” he began.  “But I need to take some time away.  Family emergency,” he added with a quick glance in Cathy’s direction. 

The ringmaster shot her a bemused look too, but said nothing.  Their manager in the meantime responded, “Oh dear,” his voice having the sing-song ring it always did.  “Is everything alright?” 

“No,” Trowa said simply, then added, “something’s happened.  I’d…rather not discuss the specifics, if that’s alright.”

“How long will you be out?” the ringmaster asked, getting down to business. 

“It’s unclear, sir.” 

The ringmaster considered this – their manager looking to him for the final say.  Trowa had just gotten back _into_ the show.  His departure so soon after his mandatory R&R was clearly not appreciated.  But at last, the man relented and nodded with a wave.  “Go on then.  Just make sure the crew doesn’t have any unpleasant surprises for the show tonight.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Trowa acknowledged, fleeing the trailer as quickly as he had arrived.  

Seconds later, Cathy followed.  “Trowa,” she called, bounding up from behind.  “What’s happened?” she asked as she fell into step with him. 

“I’m not sure – Wufei wouldn’t tell me on the phone.” 

“Wufei…” Cathy mused.  “Then this has to do with Heero.” 

Trowa drew up short at this and not for the first time had to remind himself that it had not been so long since she too had been reunited with the others.  “Yes, as it happens.”  

She worried her lip before taking his hand in hers and telling him in no uncertain terms, “You go then.  I’ll worry about the folks here.  Take as much time as you need to make sure whatever has happened is taken care of.  Okay?”  Trowa gave her a quick hug and a word of thanks before heading to his trailer to pack.


	12. Chapter 12

**Apartment #718  
** **New York, New York  
** **204 July 24**  

The flight to New York had done nothing to soothe Trowa’s growing trepidation about what he would find upon arrival.  He landed without incident in the mid-afternoon in La Guardia with little more than the backpack he had thrown some personal effects into earlier that day and had made his way through the subway system to Wufei and Heero’s neighborhood.  His transit was interspersed by occasional updates he texted to Wufei.  _Landed…3 minutes to train…On train…On foot – 5 minutes from your place._  

At last, he climbed the stairs of the brick walk-up two at a time, his long strides carrying him down the hall to the apartment in question. 

A very haggard Wufei greeted him at the door.  As Trowa entered the apartment, he sized up his friend.  The man’s hair hung free, the dark strands brushing his shoulders, and a pair of glasses were perched on his sharp nose.  Behind the lenses, he had dark circles under his eyes.  “Thank you for coming,” Wufei muttered as he closed the door behind him.  “I know you’re on tour.” 

Trowa waved him off as he slid off his sneakers and dropped his backpack to the floor in the front hall.  “Forget about it.  What’s the SITREP?” 

Wufei took a deep breath and, his hands curling around opposite elbows, rattled off his answer.  “He came home Friday – Saturday.  Early.  I found him in the bathroom with a knife.  I was able to disarm him, but he was…agitated.  Upset.  His eyes were red.” 

“Bloodshot?” 

“No.  _Red._   He had taken something, but he wouldn’t tell me what.  Only that it wasn’t working.  By the time I…subdued him and got him to bed, he’d already destroyed our sink and Quatre had left 15 messages in the span of 10 minutes.”  Wufei closed his eyes and shook his head.  “He hasn’t left his room – except to relieve himself – for the last three days.  I’ve brought him food and water but he won’t touch it.  He won’t even speak to me.  Yesterday evening he locked the door and hasn’t let me in since.  I could have broken it down, I suppose.  But I thought it might make things worse.”  He reached up and pressed his fingers against his eyelids, looking every bit as if he was in pain.  “I’m sorry to pull you away from your work, but…I didn’t know what else to do…” 

Trowa took a moment then to study the man standing – swaying, really – before him.  “Have you slept at all?” Trowa asked, suddenly concerned for both of the apartment’s occupants. 

“No,” Wufei admitted as he dropped his hands to his sides and opened his eyes once more, seeking Trowa’s gaze with his own.  “I’ve been…monitoring him.” 

Trowa reached out and curled his long fingers gently around the shorter man’s neck, his fingertips caressing the knobs of Wufei’s spine while his thumbs stroked his jawline.  As he leaned down so that their gazes were level, Wufei closed his eyes again at the soothing touch.  “You did good,” Trowa told him.  “I’m here to relieve you of your post.  Go get some sleep – let me worry about Heero today.  We’ll talk more later, okay?” 

Wufei blinked his eyes open once more and nodded, slipping from Trowa’s hands and turning down the hall that led to his bedroom.  

Trowa noted the lack of protest with mounting concern as Wufei closed the door quietly behind him.  After a beat, he too walked down the hall, pausing outside Heero’s door.  He tried the knob and found it locked, just as Wufei had said.  Reaching up, he gently rapped on the door with his knuckles.  “Heero?” he asked.  

No answer.  No sound at all. 

“Heero, it’s me,” he tried again.  “Can you open the door?”  Trowa flattened his hand against the door, his fingertips pressed against the grain.  “I know it’s hard.  I know it looks really far away, but…I know you can do it, Heero.  Please.”  He paused and waited.  He thought he heard the rustling of sheets from inside the room, the sound of a body shifting.  “Two feet on the ground, and then it’s just a couple steps.  You don’t even have to open the door – just unlock it and I’ll handle the rest.”  

Silence met him.  But then there was a creak of a floorboard followed by the tell-tale _click_ of a lock being turned.  Trowa sighed with relief where he stood in the hallway.  He waited a moment – giving Heero time to retreat once more – before turning the knob and stepping into the room.


	13. Chapter 13

**Apartment #718  
** **New York, New York  
** **204 August 31**  

Friday morning arrived like any other.  Wufei’s alarm chirped brightly from where it sat on the bedside table before his arm shot out to silence it.  Through the blinds, the sun was already squeezing through the high-rise buildings to offer token glimpses of August daylight.  Summer in the city.  Sitting upright, he began to go through the motions of his daily routine, automatic, his thoughts already elsewhere.

The sun was up.  Heero was improving.  Trowa was leaving in thirty-six hours.

The man and his stalwart dedication had seen them through the past month while they nursed Heero back to himself.  It had taken tremendous coaxing.  For weeks, Heero had rarely parted from Trowa’s side, seeming to draw comfort in his proximity.  But even that had not been enough to shake the malaise, Wufei reflected as he moved from the bedroom to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

As he waited, Wufei remembered one particular evening he had come home to find the two of them on the couch, the lights dim throughout the apartment as dusk approached outside.  Heero had been wrapped in a blanket, only his head visible where it rested on Trowa’s thigh while the other man read in the fading light.  Wufei had offered them a greeting which was met with twin murmurs of acknowledgement as he moved through the apartment and into the kitchen.  There he found evidence of an afternoon tea – mugs and a plate in the sink, a tea canister, spoon, and honey on the counter – and an empty jar of blueberry jam that had been scraped clean.  He had bought it at one of the markets some time ago, and knew it had gone untouched for months in the refrigerator.  Ducking his head around the corner, he inquired after the circumstances that led to its demise.

Trowa had glanced at him over the back of the couch cushions but said nothing.  From Heero, unseen, only, “It was the only thing that didn’t taste like ashes.”

Wufei and Trowa had exchanged unspoken words regarding this declaration.  At last, Wufei had offered, “I can bring another one home tomorrow if you’d like.”

Trowa had then turned then from him to look down at the man in his lap.  From across the distance that separated them, Wufei saw him smile before replying, “I think that’d be good.”

At the sound of shuffling feet, Wufei came back to himself and the present.  Looking up, he watched Heero appear from around the corner and take a seat at the dining table just across the threshold from where Wufei stood.  There he was bathed in the harsh fluorescent light from the kitchen which brought stark relief to the planes of his face and chased the shadows away…for now.  Wufei tried not to think too hard on it.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Zăo,” Heero replied in kind.

Wufei’s eyes drifted past him out into the darkness of the apartment.  “Trowa?”

“Still asleep,” Heero told him and was unable to suppress a yawn.  Reaching up, he scrubbed at his eyes.

“You can go back to bed, you know,” Wufei told him. 

Heero shook his head.  “Routine.”

The corners of Wufei’s mouth twitched upward in the ghost of a pained smile. Routine.  Trowa had reinstated ‘routine’ shortly after his arrival, insisting that Wufei go to work, that Heero leave his room by a certain time – even if it only meant relocating to elsewhere in the apartment – that eating and bathing and dressing were things that must be done daily – even if it was only a minimalist’s definition of the acts themselves.

But there’d been more to it which Wufei wasn’t certain Heero had been privy to.  Trowa had one morning pulled Wufei aside and insisted he get out of the apartment and return to his life at the Preventers branch.

“But what about you?” Wufei had asked.  “I can help.”

“I know.  And you have.  It’s just…” Trowa had glanced over his shoulder, clearly hoping to keep this conversation between the two of them.  “I talked to Quatre last night.  Gave him an update.  He’s concerned—”

“And rightly so.”

“—Of course.  But…something he said…”  Trowa shook his head then and laid his hands heavy on Wufei’s shoulders.  “Look – go back to work tomorrow.  Even if you show up late.  You’ll feel better, I promise.”

Wufei had squinted up at the other man behind his glasses and fought the sinking feeling of ineptitude.  “If I feel better, then I’m a worse friend than I thought.”

Trowa shook his head and drew him into a tight embrace, long arms enveloping his smaller frame.  “You didn’t fail him, ‘Fei,” Trowa had assured him, the words rumbling in his broad chest where it was pressed against Wufei’s cheek.  “You woke up.  In the middle of the night.  Just like he needed you to.” 

This hadn’t made much sense to Wufei but as Trowa pulled away and looked him in the eyes, he chose not to ask after it.  There was something unspoken there, something that had apparently transpired between Trowa and their absent L4 comrade that had left him shaken.

So Wufei had gone back to work with minimal protest.  And once he’d passed through his self-doubt and righteous guilt…he _had_ felt better.  Like some weight had been lifted and things were putting themselves to rights.  He would just need to be patient for it to happen.

While he’d taken up his daily ‘routine’ once more, Trowa lingered with Heero, the two of them silently celebrating each small accomplishment as they came to it. 

And then earlier this week, Wufei had returned home to find Heero sitting alone on the couch scrawling in one of his journals.  The apartment had been bright and welcoming, music drifted up from the laptop that sat off to Heero’s side.  Heero himself had had his legs tucked up to his chest while the pen in his hand moved with furious strokes, like a demon unleashed scratching, scratching, scratching at the paper before it.  Wufei had been so shocked at the sight, he’d frozen stock-still in the archway that led to the main living area.  He was only shaken loose when Heero eventually looked up and offered a gentle, “Welcome home.” 

But now Trowa would be leaving them and Heero would return to the office the following Monday.  As Wufei returned to himself and the kitchen, he busied his hands by pulling down a couple of coffee cups in an effort to avoid thinking of the way Heero’s sharp eyes followed his every movement.  “Are you ready?” he asked.  “For Monday?”

Wufei chanced a glance at his roommate and watched him press his lips into a thin line.  “I think so,” Heero began.  “I just…don’t know what to tell them.  About…this.”

_Ah._   “You don’t have to tell them anything,” Wufei asserted.

“I know, but—”

“No, I mean…”  _How to put this?_   “I had them put you on extended medical leave.” 

From the dining table, Heero tilted his head to the side, his face betraying his uncertainty.  “What did you tell them?”

“That you’d come down with a severe respiratory infection that’s common in colonists living on Earth from breathing only 21 percent oxygen for too long…completely disregarding the fact that it’s the same percentage on the colonies and there’s no such correlation with respiratory infections and colonists—”

“You lied.”

Wufei couldn’t help the dark grin that tugged at his lips.   “Of course I lied.  They don’t need to know about any of this.”

“You’re so certain of that?”

The words held all the fear that they had managed to beat back together over the last month.  The sour taste of failure, the darkness that had so pervaded their days and nights.  Like a virus, it had seeped into their bones. 

Until now.  “I’m certain,” Wufei told him.  Nothing else needed to be said as far as he was concerned.  Pulling the coffee pot from its resting place he held it up to the light.  “Want some?”

Heero considered him for a moment before nodding, accepting the offer.


	14. Chapter 14

**Winner Family Compound  
****L4-V05001**  
**204 September 16**

Quatre met Relena in the foyer at the foot of the immense staircase with all the courtesy of a professional host.  She accepted with the much the same etiquette, her eyes glittering with their mutual charade.  They retreated back up the stairs to his office while her assistant took a seat in the hall, her eyes glued to a mobile.

Once through the threshold of the study, she hugged him like a friend.  Quatre laughed as he returned the embrace.  “I take it this is a social call?”

“As if you had any doubt,” Relena challenged.  “You look much better than when I last saw you,” she said as they parted, “which was forever ago, it seems.”

“Likewise,” Quatre agreed.  “How’s your mother?”

Relena’s smile softened at the mention of Mrs. Darlian.  She’d taken a leave of absence to spend time with the older woman.  Though the press had the tact not to publish on the matter, rumor had it – presumably correctly – that the woman had fallen ill and had undergone a number of grueling treatments before she had returned home.  “Much better, thank you.  She’s in good spirits again.  I’ll see her later this autumn.” 

Quatre nodded and directed the two of them to the couch in the corner, both collapsing upon it as if the world had finally slipped from their respective shoulders.  _How nice to have a confidant_ , he mused to himself.  There were times he felt so removed from the others, it made his heart ache in an entirely different way than it usually did.  _Especially recently…_

As if she’d read his mind, Relena asked, “Have you heard from Heero lately?”

Quatre shifted to face her and nodded.  “I have.  He seems to be doing better.  He told me he was back at the office and had a trip coming up.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  He called me early this month.  It was the first time I’d heard from him in I’m not sure how long.  He sounded so uncertain…”  She shook her head as if to scatter unwanted thoughts. 

Quatre kept his mouth shut.  He had been the unintentional witness to the darkness that had swallowed their friend whole, prompting a terrified long-distance call – or fifteen – to New York one evening in July.  It had been nine years since he’d felt anything close to that kind of pain.  It had laid him up for a week as he struggled to build the wall that would keep Heero’s agony out of his head. 

To Relena, he said, “He had a rough time this summer.  He’s doing much better, I assure you.”

Her eyes met his and after a moment she smiled, suitably relieved.  “I’m glad to hear it.”  Taking up his hand, she held it up between them.  “So what happened to you?”

Quatre had completely forgotten the bandages that wound around his hands, covering his palms and wrists.  He flushed with embarrassment and answered, his eyes downcast, “I…may have caused something very – erm, _large_ to explode in the lab yesterday.”

“An accident?” she pressed.  “I didn’t hear anything about this—”

“That would be because we did it on purpose.  We wanted to see what would happen.  It’s all in good fun.”

“Quatre Winner!” 

She sounded utterly scandalized, but when he met her eyes, Relena was all smiles.  It gave him the confidence to argue, “Well, the way I see it…I need _something_ to do in my spare time.  Some men take to drinking and gambling, others have more honorable pursuits.  I happen to blow things up while wearing a lab coat.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Dug Out  
** **Clifton, VA  
** **204 October 11**  

Exhale.  Swing.  _Crack_.  Reset.  Exhale.  Swing.   _Crack_ ….

Wufei had found the batting cage still open but its summer rush long since ended, something for which he was grateful.  After today, he would rather not have an audience for the evening.  The vice-like control he’d maintained on his emotions had held to this point, but with each ball he knocked to the back of the cage, his grip was slipping.

He and Heero had come to Washington for one of the regional Preventers conferences, their first since Heero’s return to the office.  Though he’d managed to keep a straight face when their Branch Chief had approved their trip, he had been inwardly ecstatic for another opportunity to see _her_.  The woman of his dreams…or so he’d thought.  Clenching his teeth, he swung the bat in his hands and heard the connection with the baseball as much as he felt it, the metal in his hands vibrating with the force of it.

They’d been seeing one another for months now – whenever she came up to New York, whenever he came down to Washington.  He had been entertaining all sorts of romantic nonsense.  He’d been an idiot.  It just took her husband showing up and her introducing him as a friend from work for him to realize it.

The thought sent his blood boiling again and as he swung the bat once more, his target went whistling past his shoulder, striking the backstop behind him with a metallic rattle.  He hissed between his teeth as he reset his stance. 

As he did so, he caught sight of a familiar figure approaching from the management office.  _Heero_. 

The man took lazy strides as Wufei continued his assault on the baseballs the machine threw at him, eventually coming to a stop behind Wufei on the other side of the metal cage.  Hopping up upon the generator, Heero asked, “So to what do we owe this newfound interest in the American pastime?”

“She’s _married_ ,” Wufei snarled by way of explanation, hitting another ball across the cage.  Three more balls hurled at him.  Three more cracks of the bat in his hand that sent them spinning through the air until the sudden stop at the opposite end of the cage.

But then the buzzer, and the orange light.  Stop.  Cease.  Desist.

Wufei let loose an astounding display of unchecked rage, shouting expletives in every dialect he knew at the machine with all the unspent frustration and hurt spilling from his chest.

Seconds later, he was thankful there was no one but his roommate around to have witnessed the outburst.  Even that was enough to dampen the boiling rage in his gut, and as he set his jaw and turned to the man in question, he searched Heero’s face for some response to his outburst.  He feared he’d see some bitter judgment residing there, but the other man’s features were well-schooled and unreadable.

Duo would know, he realized with a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking back over the last six months.  Duo always knew, could always read the spider web cracks in Heero’s façade.  Wufei suspected that was why Heero had avoided calling the man until he was well and truly through the worst of the fallout from the summer.

But Wufei could only look back at his partner, watch how his sneakered feet swung like lazy pendulums where they hung over the generator, and wonder.  Suppressing a defeated sigh, Wufei broke their impromptu staring contest and looked away. 

At that moment, Heero hopped down from his perch and Wufei watched him dig a hand deep into his pocket as he walked to the wire cage that separated them.  Reaching through the gap in the gate with his free hand, he unlatched the lock and stepped inside.  Withdrawing his other hand from torn jeans, he set a stack of tokens on top of the machine.  Wufei stared at the pile of medallions with something akin to shock, and as Heero stepped back outside, he heard him mutter, “Swing away.”

After the remainder of the tokens had been spent, after the muscles in his shoulders ached and burned with the onslaught, only then did Wufei leave the cage, grab his jacket from Heero’s waiting hand, and turn to walk away. 

They walked in silence back to the small parking lot and climbed into the rental car they had picked up for the trip.  Wufei slid into the passenger seat while Heero climbed in behind the wheel.  Once both were strapped in, the car came to life with a push of a button and Heero guided them with ease back toward I-66.  They put some distance between them and the batting cages before Heero asked him, “How did you get out here without a car?”

“I took the train to the end of the line.  Started walking from Centreville,” [1] Wufei answered.  “How’d you know where I was?”

“I set up GPS tracking on your phone.”

Wufei felt the tug at his lips of a reluctant smile at the admission as he watched the world pass by out the window.  “I don’t recall agreeing to that.”

“You didn’t.”

Wufei shook his head.  “Because _that’s_ not an invasion of privacy,” he said, but the reprimand lacked real venom.

“I didn’t hear you complaining when I brought you extra tokens,” Heero countered.  “Food or hotel?”

“Food,” he answered.  “Something unhealthy, please.”

“I’m sure we can find something that will suffice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Although in 2016 WMATA Orange Line extensions are not in the cards, the idea has been tabled a few times, so it’s not entirely implausible. Although, that was before the SafeTrack maintenance surge so…some creative licensing here.


	16. Chapter 16

**Jakarta, Indonesia  
** **204 November 30**  

“Can I ask you a favor?”

The question – and the uncharacteristic sobriety it held – drew Seo-yeon up short.  She turned to face Duo full-on where they stood off to the side of the pathway that led through the campus’s central garden.  Their classmates funneled passed while she eyed him with some wariness, though her words were kind when she answered.  “Always.  You know that.”

Duo’s lips quirked upward at the edges in a fleeting smile before he dropped his gaze to the ground between them.  He scuffed his worn sneakers against the stones underfoot.  “Your girlfriend…Filza.  She works at a hair salon, yeah?”

There was a spark of dawning realization in her eyes when he glanced up through his bangs at her.  It was followed quickly by no small shred of disbelief.  “She does.  What’s this about?”

“She interested in earning a side commission?” he asked.  “I, uh, would rather not do this with an audience.”

Seo-yeon worried her lower lip between her teeth before answering, “I’m sure she’d be happy to.  I’ll ask her when she gets off of work later today.  Your place I assume?  When?”

“Tonight.  If she can.”

At this, she reached out and took his hand, her fingertips pressing into his palm.  “So soon?”

He gave another half-hearted grin and squeezed her hand back.  “I’ll get cold feet otherwise,” he told her.  “Will you see if she’s available this evening?  You can come too.”

She nodded emphatically, squeezing his hand in her own.  “I’ll call you later to confirm.”

Duo gave her another weak grin and with a word of thanks, turned away to retrace his steps from earlier in the day back home.  He could feel her eyes on his back – and the three-foot queue that swung from his head – as he fled her company and the campus as a whole before he could back-track on his plans. 

As he stepped across the threshold of his and Jax’s apartment, his skin was crawling.  _Nerves_ , he told himself.  _Ignore it._  

In truth he’d made up his mind about the evening’s endeavor several weeks ago, before finals had even begun.  The idea had struck him soundly one morning as he stared back at his reflection, a half-braided queue in his hands.  It dawned on him that come May 205, a little more than a decade since he fell to earth, he would have closed this most recent chapter of his life and he would be released back into the wilds of civil society.  Once more he’d met the challenge, once more he’d be commended for his efforts, and once more the path ahead was uncharted.

Did he want to carry them beyond this point?  Maybe now – at this juncture with the unknown – maybe now was the time to part ways and say goodbye.  He’d carried his ghosts with him, immortalized in the braid that trailed down passed his hips.  He’d internalized them, swallowed them whole, made them part of himself. 

But maybe now on the verge of yet another reinvention he had the strength to stand on his own two feet.

He’d need help, he had realized then, and had started to devise a plan.  He had liked Seo-yeon’s hairstylist girlfriend when he met her over the summer – her skills would be necessary.  Seo-yeon herself was also a requirement, though whether she would serve as a witness or moral support, he wasn’t sure.  Between the two of them and their incorruptible strength, they’d keep him honest.

Now that the first pieces had been laid, Duo checked his watch.  Jax would be out the rest of the evening – the man had his own exams to cram for and would likely have sequestered himself in his own school’s library.  Privacy would be good.  Duo worried the inside of his cheek with his teeth and counted the hours.  If he showered now, his hair should still be manageable come this evening…assuming this evening was a go.  Tossing his satchel on the kitchen island, he headed to his room to get ready.

When he emerged from the bathroom some time later, his cell had a message from Seo-yeon.  Tonight was indeed a go.  The confirmation sent his stomach plummeting anew.  _Stop it_ , he berated himself as he set the phone back down on the desk in his room and busied himself with getting dressed.

The pair arrived promptly at 2000, the trains apparently having run on schedule.  Duo greeted them with a smile, having successfully buried his trepidation by sheer force of will.  Seo-yeon stared in shock at his hair which for once tumbled unbound down about his shoulders in waves.  Filza for her part took no notice of his hesitation and promptly whisked into the apartment, all business.  She took a quick look around and moved decisively to the kitchen’s island bar.  “We’ll set up shop here I think.  Easier mobility and clean-up afterward.  That work for you?”

Duo pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, but made no move to join her at the bar.  His feet felt weighted down by unseen cement blocks. 

Filza glanced up from unrolling her toolkit across the bar top.  There was a moment of silence before she offered a reassuring smile and pulled one of the stools away from the island’s edge.  “Have a seat.”

Duo took a steadying breath and walked forward, sensing Seo-yeon hovering beside him.  As he hopped onto the offered stool, she slid into the one next to it.  She reached out to take his hand while Filza ran her fingers through the curtain of hair that trailed down his back.  “Are you sure about this?” Seo-yeon asked.  “There won’t be any going back afterward.”

He gave her what felt like a pained smile.  _Ah girly, if only you knew._ Out loud, he said only, “That’s the point.”

“But you’re sure?”

It took him a moment to answer as his doubt started another fire in his belly.  Finally, he said, “Yes.  It’s time.”

“Such beautiful hair.  How much are we taking?” Filza asked, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. 

“All of it,” Duo answered automatically then instantly thought better of it, amending, “well…maybe not _all_ of it…”

The woman behind him laughed.  “No, not all of it.  How about we start…here?” she asked, pressing her long fingers against the back of his neck just above the juncture with his shoulders.  “And then we’ll go from there?”

Duo nodded and took a steadying breath as he felt her gather his hair together, winding a black band around the chestnut strands.  “Before we get started,” he murmured, drawing Filza’s attention.  Once more, she paused and placed her hands on his shoulders – a reassuring weight.  Duo squeezed Seo-yeon’s hand in his own.  “If, uh…I happen to, um, _cry_.  Don’t stop.  And don’t tell anyone, okay?  I’ll lose all my street cred.”


	17. Chapter 17

**NYC Preventers Branch Office  
** **New York, New York  
** **204 December 22**  

Wufei stopped in the doorway to his office finding _someone_ sitting at his desk.  The other man’s back was to him, but he could see an unruly mop of short brown hair over the back of his office chair while the occupant leafed through an unguarded file folder.  “Can I help you?” he asked, not bothering to hide the flare of defensive territoriality that rolled through his voice.  He felt a bitter twitch of joy when the man in his seat jumped, but it petered out when the other stood, turning to face him, and he found his gaze locked with a pair of all too familiar blue-violet eyes.

“Hey ‘Fei,” Duo said with a grin, closing the folder and setting it gently on the desk.

Wufei could do little more than stare.  “ _Wǒ de tiān_ ,” [1] he muttered, “it’s all gone.”

Duo expelled a breathy laugh which slid smoothly from between his lips as he ruffled the cropped waves upon his head.  “Yeah.  Quatre and Trowa had the same reaction, just about. Hil too…” 

“Has Heero seen you?” Wufei asked finally moving into the office and tossing the notebook in his hand onto the desk, the folder Duo had been perusing forgotten.  Security measures be damned.

The other man shook his head.  “No, not yet.  The Colonel kept her word – clearances are still good [2] – so I got through security and came here.  Thought maybe you’d both be back from lunch already.”

“Heero’s been in a briefing since 1130.  He should be done soon.  If you go towards the conference hall via B-wing, you should catch him en route.  He usually stops at the vending machine there. It has better options.”

“You track your partner’s movements?” Duo asked as he stood, moving out of Wufei’s way so as to give him his desk back.

_Like you wouldn’t believe._ “My job is to observe people,” Wufei told him instead, his eyes following Duo’s retreating form to the door.  “Heero’s no different.”

The other man laughed as he reached the threshold, tossing over his shoulder.  “B-wing, huh?  I’ll see if I can find him, if not I’ll be back in a few—”

“How long are you here for?  You have a place to stay?” Wufei asked, interrupting.

Startled by the sudden change in subject, Duo paused and turned to lean against the door frame with a shrug.  “I had an interview earlier today.  For something to keep me occupied after graduation.  Might have another one on Wednesday after the holiday too, so got a hotel room.”

“Cancel the reservation – you’re staying with us.”

“You sure?” Duo asked, shifting from foot to foot.  “I don’t want to impose…”

“You won’t be,” Wufei told him with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “We haven’t seen you in ages.”  He didn’t mean for the words to sound as cross as they did, but Duo winced nonetheless.  Wufei softened the chastisement and asserted again, “You’re staying with us.  No arguing.”

Duo smiled again at the last, scuffing his shoe on the carpet.  “Alright, alright…” he said, moving to slip out the door in search of his compatriot.

“Hey.”

Duo stopped short again, confusion tinting his smile now.  “Yeah?”

“Why’d you cut it?” was all Wufei asked, and he watched the smile fade from Duo’s face. 

The ‘L2 blue’ gaze turned inward for a moment before Duo could meet the other man’s eyes.  “Because it was time,” he said softly, his voice betraying the sheer force of will it had taken to go through with it.  Wufei heard it for what it was and nodded, acknowledging, accepting.  Duo swallowed, fitting the smile back into place before finally heading out of the office and down the hall.

Moving to finally take a seat in his desk, Wufei leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.  Duo Maxwell had cut his hair.  “Heero’s gonna freak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] 我的天 (wǒ de tiān) = Oh my God  
> [2] As a reminder, Une [extended Duo’s clearances for another five years](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7102375/chapters/16138387) upon his departure from Preventers…in case joining the rest of civil society didn’t work out or he opted to come back after graduation.


	18. Chapter 18

**Apartment #718  
** **New York, New York  
** **204 December 24**  

After some reinforcing fire from Heero, Duo had agreed to stay on with them through New Year’s before returning to school.  The unexpected company had lifted their collective spirits it seemed to Wufei. 

As snow accumulated outside, turning the concrete jungle of Manhattan into a sea of white, the three of them huddled in the comparative warmth of the apartment.  Duo at some point overnight had donned one of Heero’s sweatshirts to ward off the residual chill that came with the old building’s poor insulation.  Wufei found the image of the other man bounding about the apartment in the borrowed clothes rather humorous, but chose not to comment on it after glancing in Heero’s direction.  Something unspoken had shifted in the other man’s demeanor during Duo’s stay, and while it piqued his curiosity, Wufei kept his observations to himself.

Both Wufei and Heero had asked after the interviews Duo had landed, but the other man would say only that they went well as far as he could tell.  He kept similarly mum on his newly shorn hair.  The locks – now free from the weight and binding of the familiar braid – tumbled about his head in closely cropped waves.  So instead they focused on the goings-on in the lives of their absent comrades, life in the NYC Preventers Branch, and Duo’s schooling as it neared its inevitable end. 

“This term was particularly rough,” Duo confided.  To Heero, he added, “But I managed not to throw my _favorite person ever_ out a window, so I’ll mark it down as a success.”

“This is that guy from Moldova we’re talking about, right?” Heero asked him.

Duo chuckled and nodded.  “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

“What guy?” Wufei asked, looking between the two from his position in the oversized chair across from them.

Duo took a drink of his coffee and shifted to cross his legs up onto the couch with the rest of him.  “Well…to start.  You remember it’s not all translating and interpreting, right?  I have these political seminars.  The Dean thinks they expand our horizons to get us up to speed with the real world or something.”  Wufei nodded, and so Duo continued, “Well, the one I was in this past semester was on, like…low-level conflict and how organized crime feeds into that and whatever.  Anyway.  There’s this one guy in the class who’s _notorious_.  He has his own group of anti-followers.”

Wufei smirked.  “Sounds charming.”

“Oh yeah, he’s really something.  Case in point.  Early on in the semester, we get to class this one day and are split into groups to discuss the reading from the night before.  Was on some big syndicate bust orchestrated by the Preventers L2 Branch in AC 202.”  Duo paused to take a sip from his coffee while dual grins appeared on Heero and Wufei’s faces.  “Needless to say, I have some…erm, _intimate_ knowledge on the happenstance of said bust, but I kept my mouth shut and laid low.  You guys’d’ve been proud.

“But this guy from Moldova, man.  Discussion starts and he _goes off_ on how L2 is so fucking awful and how the Preventers really need to organize a crackdown or martial law or something–” Heero shook his head while Duo continued uninterrupted, “–and I told him, no, that there’s organized crime _everywhere_ – that’s why it’s so fucking difficult to eliminate – and L2 only got as bad as it is because the fuckin’ socio-economic dichotomy continues to grow.” 

A light laugh escaped from Heero then.  The other two pinned him with their curious gazes and watched him flush as he offered, “Sorry.  I’m not used to the, uh…higher education vocabulary.  ‘Socio-economic dichotomy’ is certainly a new one coming from you.”

Duo grinned roguishly at him.  “Ya like that, huh?  Does that qualify me as a third player in your Word Wars?” [1]

“No,” Wufei told him decisively, though the denial was countered with a wide grin of his own.

“Ah come on, man,” Duo whined.  “I’ll even throw in an ‘epistemic community’ if ya want.”

Heero laughed again and struggled to regain his composure.  Looking over at Duo, he waved at him, “Sorry – continue.”

Duo meanwhile shook his head and leaned forward to set his coffee cup down on the table before them.  “Anyway… So, yeah.”  He raised his hands about shoulder width apart before him.  “You have the really, really rich on one side,” he said, shaking his right hand, “and the really, really poor on the other.  And sometimes the really rich use the really poor for their own ends.  So of _course_ there’s going to be tension.  And when problems aren’t addressed and tensions _grow_ , well naturally there’s going to be clashes and riots and crime. 

“Well, this guy asks me, ‘Are you doing your thesis on this?’ as if that was the only way he’d accept that I knew what I was talking about.  But I tell him, ‘Actually, no.  I lived there.  I was on the really, really poor end of things.’”  Dropping his arms, Duo picked up his coffee again and shook his head.  “The next thing he did…oh God it made me mad – and I don’t even know if he knew he was doing it or not.  He just kinda looks at me and goes, ‘…oh,’ and puts his leg down in front of his bag, between me and his bag.  I’m like…seriously?  Like…you really think that just because I’m from L2 that I’m gonna rob you, right here, in front of twenty people.  You’re kidding right?”

Duo sighed in clear exasperation.  “Every time that guy opens his mouth, he says something outrageous or over-exaggerated or just _wrong_.  He rips on the Preventers a lot too, which doesn’t earn him any points with me.”

“You have people like that everywhere though,” Wufei said.

“Oh no, I know.  Which is why every time he starts talking and all I can think is, ‘I don’t wanna talk, I don’t wanna talk, I don’t wanna talk…aaaand I’m gonna have to talk,’” he said, slowly raising his hand above his head.  Dropping his arm after a beat, he hissed, “There are times I wonder how the hell he got in.  I got in because of my connections, I know that.  My academic standing is nonexistent.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Wufei countered.  “What you lack in academic records you more than make up for elsewhere.”

Duo laughed.  “Yeah and I can’t tell them about most of it.  Not for another thirty years or so.”

“I can safely say assume that my own life from the age of eight onward is likely buried somewhere in the Preventers vaults,” Heero said, earning another laugh from Duo as he finished his own coffee.

“If you’re still around when I’m fifty, and you’re still interested, I’ll tell you _everything_ ,” Wufei added.

“You know that entire Gundam thing?” Duo said, standing and taking both his and Heero’s cups for refills.  _“I was the black one!”_ he whispered over his shoulder to the two men still seated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] As a reminder, Heero and Wufei have a running battle on who can use more archaic verbiage in official documents.  [It started](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5768266/chapters/13292917) with Wufei’s transfer to the Intelligence, Research, and Analysis Wing [and continued](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5786146/chapters/13335664) after they were paired up together.


	19. Chapter 19

**Apartment #718**  
**New York, New York**  
**204 December 30**   


Driven inside by a brewing nor’easter and its bitter winds, the three of them had ordered in and tipped the delivery guy handsomely for the hassle.  Talk of their absent brothers in arms reminded Wufei of a commitment from years ago.

“You’ll recall that I got tapped to host your reunion next year,” Wufei reminded them, still feeling mildly perturbed about the matter.  “Which means _you_ are hosting next year,” he added to Heero, who grimaced.

Duo had the sense to wince dramatically.  “You don’t have to, you know,” he assured.  “The others…I don’t think they’d care _where_ we got together.” 

“No.  No, we should host,” Heero asserted, glancing between Wufei and Duo.  Focusing his attention fully on the latter, he added, “Wufei would balk at the very notion of backing down from the task.”

Wufei laughed in spite of the jab.  “That’s fair,” he acknowledged.  “To be honest, I’m more concerned with what we’re going to do with the lot of them while they’re here.  New York has plenty to offer, but we’d have to get pretty outlandish or unseasonable to avoid the masses.  It’s not like Geneva where everyone leaves town.  Quite the opposite.”

“‘Outlandish’ you say,” Duo mused.  “What if we did something ridiculous?  Like a ghost hunt or something.”

“A ghost hunt,” Wufei repeated, incredulous at the very notion.

“Jesus, can you imagine the five of us on an overnight ghost hunt?”  Duo asked as he leaned back, the chair beneath him tilting precariously backward onto its two hind legs.  His eyes were glued to the ceiling, clearly already playing out the shenanigans in his head.  “Quat would probably love the whimsy of the whole thing, the _possibility_ of seeing something.  You two would be our stalwart skeptics—”

“And you’d be the contrary one,” Heero interrupted, “always ready to lob combative logic into the mix.  Our escort would assert some nonsense such as disturbances coming in threes being a direct affront to the Holy Trinity, and you’d ask, ‘But what if it’s a _Buddhist_ ghost?’”  Duo started to chuckle.  “‘If you’re with us give us a sign and touch the red light.’  To which you would ask, ‘But what if he’s colorblind?’” an addendum which earned even heartier laughter from the man in question.

Wufei piped up as Duo coughed and regained his breath.  “Barton believes though, doesn’t he?”

“Yes and no,” Duo acknowledged with a shrug.  “He _sees_ things sometimes, but he also prefaces most retellings with something akin to, ‘I’ve suffered lots of concussions in my short 20-something lifetime, so don’t assume I’m a reliable narrator.’”

Heero nodded in agreement.  “He’s just as likely to not see anything as he is to see something, think, ‘Well that was odd,’ and keep going.”

“He’d be useless on an actual investigation then,” Wufei determined, with a sigh of defeat.  “Wouldn’t provide us with any good SITREPs.”

Duo chuckled darkly.  “I can imagine you going down the line asking for reports throughout the night.  ‘You get anything?’  ‘No.’  ‘How about you?’  ‘Nada.’  ‘Barton?’  ‘Well…I did see this floating head in the hallway about an hour back, but it was probably nothing.’”


	20. Chapter 20

**InterContinental Hotel**  
**Jeddah, Saudi Arabia  
** **204 December 31**

Quatre stared out over the city, its lights so far below blinking like stars.  The sound of New Year’s celebrations drifted up to him where he stood on his hotel balcony, carried on the ocean breezes.  He shivered and drew the blanket he’d carried out with him tighter around his shoulders to fight off the winter chill. 

He’d come down to Earth at the urgings of his eldest sister, Fatima.  She had opted to have a miniature reunion in Jeddah for those who could escape their personal or business trappings.  Based on the limited collective that had banded together for the holiday, he wondered if she had also preempted any potential familial drama by forewarning their more confrontational siblings that their controversial younger brother would be present.  There were some among his sisters whom he had not seen since he had returned in AC 196, and while their absence was not unusual in itself, the doubt lingered like a toxin in his veins.

Despite his (perhaps misplaced) paranoia, he had enjoyed the week.  His sisters – and their growing families – had offered a pleasant respite from the office and political maneuvering of life in L4.  He had come to realize that they were an eclectic bunch.  Doctors, lawyers, physicists.  Teachers, mothers, perpetual graduate students.  Noreen – the closest to him in age – was a tattoo artist of all things. [1]

He smiled out at the night and leaned heavily on the balcony railing, his thoughts shifting to the other former pilots.  He wondered how they were doing, hoped the year ended better than it had perhaps started.  Closing his eyes, he reached out, searching the vast distances of Earth and space for those select, familiar wavelengths.

Duo was with Heero and Wufei it seemed, judging by the proximity he pulled off of the three of them.  Heero’s frequency overpowered the other two as it was wont to do.  He was content, quiet.  Quatre smiled. 

Just as he was about to turn his attention to finding the fifth and final member of their scattered band, his mobile phone vibrated in his pocket.  Quatre sighed and withdrew the device.  His displeasure with being interrupted dissipating instantly when he read the name displayed on the screen.  Bringing the phone up to his ear, he answered, “Trowa?”

“You know, after a few drinks I can tell when you’re looking,” the other man said, his voice holding a rough edge that suggested he was calling on the tail end of a very long night.  “The hair on the back of neck goes on end, and there’s almost this…pressure in the back of my head.  What do you think that says about _my_ super powers?”

Quatre bit his lip to keep from laughing.  “Maybe you’re just very good at reading people and made an educated guess.”

“So you _were_ looking.” 

Quatre flushed.  _Caught_.  “Yes, I was,” he admitted, unable to fight the grin that plastered itself on his face.  “How are you?”

“Ringing in the New Year in Seoul.  Yourself?”

“Jeddah.  We have a couple hours before midnight yet.”

“Sisters?”

“Several of them, actually.”

On the other end of the line, he could hear Trowa hum a wordless tune for a moment as he considered this information.  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked at length.

Quatre considered the question for a moment.  “Yes,” he answered, feeling almost surprised by the realization.  “I am.  We’re quite a menagerie.  I don’t get to spend as much time with them as I’d like to.”  After a beat he redirected the conversation away from the Winner family.  “The five of us are all on Earth again, as it happens.”

There was a moment before Trowa caught the shift.  “We’ll all be on Earth again next year too…barring Wufei up and moving last minute.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten.  Do you think he’ll actually go forward with it?  We did rather strong arm him into the responsibility from what I can recall.”

Trowa chuckled.  “Yes, I think he’ll still do it.  Wufei likes a challenge, but I think he likes the comraderie more.  He’ll never admit to it though.  And don’t tell him I said as much – he’d feel like I outed him as the emotive fool he is under the gruff exterior…”

“Trowa.”

“Yes?”

Quatre worried his lower lip between his teeth before he found the courage to say, “Thank you for calling.  It’s nice to talk to you.”

There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment he was concerned that he’d made the other man uncomfortable.  Before he could brush off the sentiment, Trowa answered, “It’s good to talk to you too.  I’ll have to do it more often if it’s feeling like we only talk during a crisis.  And Quat…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t mind when you look for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Beyond the oddity of a woman from an elite colonial family taking up tattoo artistry as her profession, permanent tattoos are considered haram for many Muslims, which is why this is particularly scandalous.  However, there are variations on guidance between Sunni and Shia, and even within each sect depending on who you ask.


End file.
